


Sleepover

by raisingmybanner



Series: get myself back home [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brogane, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23526895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisingmybanner/pseuds/raisingmybanner
Summary: There's a first time for everything.
Series: get myself back home [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/725445
Kudos: 16





	Sleepover

Keith swings his messenger bag into the car first, then clambers in after it, pulling the door closed behind him. The heavy _click_ immediately blocks out the shouting and screaming typical of North Pike at the end of a school day, leaving him with the quiet, sweet-smelling air of Henry’s car. He breathes it in, like it can clear the hectic buzz in his brain.

“How was school?” Henry’s voice is calm and quiet, like the air in the car, and Keith finds his eyes drawn to the man when he speaks.

He’s had quiet foster parents before, but there’s something in his voice that brings a weight to his words. Not in a suffocating way, but like the weight of a heavy quilt on a cold day. Something that stills the nervous motion. Shiro has a bit of it, too.

“Okay,” Keith says, looking back out the window as they drive past the school.

“Anything interesting happen?”

Keith’s about to say “no,” like always when he remembers the invitation he’d been handed at the beginning of the day. Charles had given it to him quickly and told him to put it in his pocket because the teachers would get mad if they saw him giving invites to some students and not others. Keith thought that was ridiculous — were they in kindergarten, honestly? — but he stuffed the envelope in his back pocket anyway and completely forgot about it. Until now.

He fishes the now-bent envelope out of his pocket and looks at it. It’s tinted a faint blue from his newish jeans, but clearly reads “Keith” on the front in a boy’s handwriting. He opens the envelope and pulls out a store-bought birthday invitation, with bright colors and balloons. The information is written in the appropriate spots in a neat, adult hand.

> WHAT: Charlie’s 13th birthday!
> 
> WHEN: Friday, December 15th, 4pm - Saturday 12pm
> 
> WHERE: 1897b Halliway Drive
> 
> Join us for pizza, movies, and laser tag!

Below the printed information is a note in Charles’ handwriting again. “Hope you can come, Keith!” with a smiley face next to it.

“What’s that?” Henry asks, glancing over.

“Oh,” Keith says, startled and suddenly closing the invitation and putting it back in the envelope. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Henry looks fully at him as he comes to a stop at the stoplight, and winks at him. “Don’t tell me it’s a love note.”

Keith can’t help it; he screws his face up and looks at Henry. The man laughs, but not unkindly. Still, it reminds Keith of flashes of other laughter and he looks away, irritated.

“It’s a joke, Keith,” Henry says, a chuckle still in his voice. “Looks like an invitation, though. Do you not want to go?”

“I do,” Keith says immediately, then bites his lip. He hadn’t meant to say that so quickly, but Henry flustered him. The man doesn’t even seem to notice; he just nods and looks back to the road as the light turns green.

“When is it?” he asks. Keith can tell he’s trying to be casual now. And although he sees through it, he’s grateful that Henry’s not still teasing him.

“Next Friday,” he says, putting the invitation back in his pocket and looking out the window once more. “But it’s okay—“

“We’ll have to shop for a present tomorrow, then,” Henry says. “How well do you know this kid?”

“He, uh. He likes… pokemon?” Keith says slowly, trying to think what else he knows about his classmate. “And basketball?”

“I’ve done more with less,” Henry says. “Get your homework done in the morning, and we can shop in the afternoon. Sound good?”

Keith looks at him, unsure. That was it? He’s going to the party? No other stipulations or warnings or thoughtful looks? He doesn’t need to check his calendar? Henry notices the silence and looks over. He meets Keith’s eyes, and Keith looks back to the window.

“Is that alright?” Henry asks again, softer this time. “Did I forget about something that’s happening tomorrow?”

“No,” Keith says after a pause. “No, nothing’s happening.”

“Great. I’ll let Mom know,” Henry says as they pull into the driveway.

Keith follows him in, wordlessly accepting his head-kiss from Hiroko before thundering up the stairs to his bedroom and closing the door.

He was going to a birthday party.

 _Keith Kogane_ was invited to a birthday party. By a random classmate, even.

He can’t help the smile that breaks across his face at that thought. He jumps onto the bed, letting his feet sprawl over the edge as he kicks his tennis shoes off.

He had been invited to birthday parties before, but mostly when he was a lot younger and everyone was invited to everyone else’s parties as a rule of thumb. But after he’d started fighting, the invitations had stopped coming from most people. The couple that he had been invited to hadn’t worked out in his foster family’s schedules, or had been “girl parties” which was apparently a problem to some people.

He grabs his phone from where it’s been waiting on his bedside table all day and sees a text from Shiro.

> [Shiro] Make it home okay?
> 
> [Keith] just got home
> 
> [Shiro] Great! Any big plans for tonight?

Keith rolls over on the bed, toeing off his socks to join his shoes on the floor and holding the phone above him.

> [Keith] lots of homework ugh
> 
> [Shiro] Don’t you usually do homework on Saturday?
> 
> [Shiro] …Or Sunday?

Keith stick his tongue out at his phone. He does normally put off homework for as long as possible, but he didn’t think Shiro would have noticed that.

> [Keith] going shopping with henry tomorrow
> 
> [Shiro] Shopping? For what?
> 
> [Keith] birthday present
> 
> [Keith] got invited to a party next weekend I guess

The “…” bubble appears and disappears a few times before Shiro texts back.

> [Shiro] That sounds fun! Whose party?
> 
> [Keith] charlie? he’s in math with me.

The “…” bubble does its thing a few more times. Keith puts the phone down on his pillow and reaches off the side of his bed for his messenger bag. A few seconds of fishing around and he manages to find his science textbook with the assigned worksheet and a pencil mostly closed inside of it. He flattens out the worksheet and picks up the pencil before his phone buzzes again.

> [Shiro] Is that the kid you sat with at lunch last week?

Keith thinks about it for a second and realizes it is. He hadn’t really connected those two dots in his mind.

> [Keith] yeah
> 
> [Shiro] That’s great, Keith.
> 
> [Keith] I guess
> 
> [Keith] g2g do this homework
> 
> [Shiro] Okay. Let me know if you need any help.

Keith puts the phone on his bedside table and picks up the pencil again. Shiro had been gently nudging lately him to try to make friends in his classes, which was more or less impossible since his fellow students mostly avoided him or tried to pick a fight with him. But ever since his last suspension a month ago, he had been doing better. A little better. Only a few almost-fights that no adult saw.

It felt stupid, but Shiro had given him something to say when he felt the nervous energy building, and it was sort of working. He hasn’t said anything to Shiro about it yet, but he has a feeling that Shiro knows anyway. He just _knows_ things sometimes.

So last week, when he had been trying to find a place to sit that was strategically far away from the groups of people who tried to start stuff, he found himself walking toward Charlie, at the end of a table.

And then he found Greg walking toward Charlie as well. He was far enough away that he could easily change course before Greg noticed him, but he paused for a moment. Greg was saying something to Charlie, and Charlie didn’t look happy about it. Charlie looked back to his food with the face of someone who is resolutely ignoring an annoying noise, and Greg laughed.

Then he grabbed Charlie’s juice and tossed it up in the air, catching it and looking at it as if he was reading the back of it.

Keith had walked over then, unsure what he was going to do exactly, just knowing that _patience yields focus, patience yields focus_ was drumming in his mind and he had to do something about it.

Patience: He had watched the situation. Observed. Took stock of his own emotions. He wasn’t feeling worked up today. It had been a calm morning. Some nervous energy because Greg was being an idiot, but the repeated words were keeping that under control.

Focus: Charlie wouldn’t stand up for himself, and Greg would be easy to get rid of. Greg didn’t usually bother Keith; he was scared of him. Keith could tell.

He put his tray down next to Charlie, grabbed the juice from Greg’s hand, and plunked it in front of Charlie. He didn’t look at Greg, just started unwrapping his spork.

“Math is the worst,” he said, looking at Charlie.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, glancing at him, then over his shoulder at where Greg was probably still standing. Keith didn’t care enough to listen for footsteps.

“Chocolate?” Keith pointed at Charlie’s pudding cup.

“Yeah.” Charlie’s eyes went back to Keith. “Lucky break.”

Keith just nodded and started eating. He could feel Charlie’s eyes on him for another second before he started eating too. Neither of them said anything about it after that, and Keith hadn’t given it a second thought.

* * *

Keith gets into the car on Thursday, but even the calm quietness of the car can’t settle his nerves. The shouts from outside have followed him into his sanctuary and are jangling around in his head, overlapping and melding and echoing into a cacophony that makes his knee jump no matter how much he tries to keep it still.

“What’s wrong, Keith?” Henry asks, and a flame of irritation _whooshes_ through him.

“Nothing,” he says shortly.

“Everything go okay at school?” Henry asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” he says, glaring out the window.

It’s not a lie. As far as the adults are concerned, everything went just fine. They don’t have cameras in the bathrooms. He crosses his arms over his stomach reflexively and just glares harder. He tries to force his knee to stop moving.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he snaps; his knee jumps again, and Henry falls silent.

When they get to the Shiroganes, he silently accepts his kiss from Hiroko and then goes upstairs and closes his door. Maybe he closes it harder than he meant to, but he doubts anyone will notice. After a second of hesitation, he locks it. The Shiroganes never told him he can’t lock the door, but he’s been in enough homes to know that they usually don’t like it when he does. Which usually means he either doesn’t do it to avoid notice, or he does it on purpose to irritate them. Depending on the family.

Right now, he’s just doing it in case Henry decides he wasn’t “fatherly enough” in the car and comes up to continue their conversation. He pulls up his T-shirt and tries to bend his body in various angles to see the entirety of his chest and sides. There’s some red marks, but no bruising. Not yet, anyway. He bruises embarrassingly easy, and he huffs out an annoyed breath at that thought.

He shoves his shirt back down into place and pauses with a hand toward the door handle.

He shakes his head and goes to the bed, grabbing his phone out of habit. There’s a text there from Shiro, as usual.

> [Shiro] How was school today?
> 
> [Keith] fine
> 
> [Shiro] Is Charles excited for his party tomorrow?

_Is he excited to hang out with his stupid friends? Probably,_ Keith thinks, pushing some hair out of his eyes before he types back.

> [Keith] i guess
> 
> [Shiro] How are you feeling about it?

Keith rolls his eyes. How is he _feeling_ about it? Shiro’s acting like he’s never been to a birthday party before, which stings.

> [Keith] dude it’s just a birthday party

The “…” appears and then vanishes. Keith puts the phone on the bedside table. Even here at home, in his locked room, the nervous energy is pumping. He feels like he did before one of his worst nights in a foster home. The one that put his arm in a brace and kept him from any “decent” foster homes after that. And while part of him is ready, _so ready_ to give that energy a release, another part of him just _hurts_ with an ache that feels more like exhaustion. That feels like the end of a last chance.

So he pushes his face into his pillow and closes his eyes. Maybe if he can make himself go to sleep, it will go away and he will feel better.

He almost feels like he might be dozing off when his phone vibrates again and startles him. His heart jumps back into his throat and he jerks completely upright before he realizes what he’s doing. He snatches the phone off the bedside table angrily.

> [Shiro] Do you want to talk?

Keith stares at the message. _No. Leave me alone._ It buzzes again.

> [Shiro] We haven’t really talked in a couple of weeks.
> 
> [Keith] don’t have much to talk about
> 
> [Shiro] That’s okay. I can talk, if you want. I can tell you about the weird snow sculptures people are making in the parking lot.
> 
> [Shiro] You won’t believe what they made today.

Keith considers just silencing the phone and laying down again, but the nervous energy is winding tighter and tighter and the part of him that hurts is gripping the phone harder and harder. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t—

He slams his eyes closed and tries the words. _Patience yields focus. Patience yields focus._

_Patience._

_Yields._

_Focus._

He doesn’t have to decide right now. He can wait. He can be patient.

He breathes in and out ten times, like Shiro had said. Give himself time. Patience.

 _Okay_.

He doesn’t want to talk, but he knows that Shiro won’t mind talking even if he’s quiet. He’s done that a lot. And he has that weight in his voice that makes it better. Focus.

The phone is still in his hand, but the screen has gone off. He clicks it on again and texts back.

> [Keith] okay

Shiro is calling him almost immediately, and he pushes the green button.

“Hey.”

“Hey, little bro.” Shiro’s voice is calm, almost entirely unruffled by static. “I’m looking out my window right now at the parking lot. There are some guys down there, pretty persistent.”

He chuckles a little, and there’s a soft noise, like he’s moving the blinds to get a better look.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what they’re making all day, but I just figured it out a few minutes ago. It’s Pikachu.”

“You _just_ figured that out?” Keith thinks his voice sounds weird, but Shiro doesn’t say anything about it.

“In my defense,” Shiro says with a chuckle, “they are only just now putting on the ears.”

Shiro goes on for a few minutes about the snow, classes, and projects. Keith sits at the head of his bed, back to the wall and leans his head back with his eyes closed. Just listening to the rhythm of Shiro’s voice.

Then Shiro pauses for a few seconds longer than usual, and Keith opens his eyes blearily.

“What’s wrong, Keith?” he asks. The fact that Henry had asked the exact same question in almost the exact same tone makes that frustration flare up again, but it’s less insistent this time. He huffs out a breath.

“Nothing,” he says quietly.

“Really nothing, or nothing you want to talk about?” Shiro asks gently after a moment.

Keith considers lying, but decides he doesn’t have the energy. He hopes Shiro won’t push.

“Nothing I want to talk about,” he says. And somehow, saying what Shiro wants to say doesn’t feel like giving him the victory.

“Fair enough,” Shiro says. He pauses again before he keeps going, his voice tentative. “Does it have to do with the party tomorrow?”

“No,” Keith says, which is partially true. Some of the boys will be there, but he doesn’t feel like explaining.

“Can I ask you a question?”

 _You just did,_ Keith thinks. He waits for Shiro to continue, but realizes after a few seconds that he won’t without permission. Something of that warm bubble pops again.

“Yeah,” he says.

“How… how long has it been since you’ve slept over at someone’s house? For a party, or anything.”

Keith knows that this will be his first time, but he still pauses like he’s thinking about it. Embarrassment flares up, quickly choked by anger.

“Never,” he says.

“Okay,” Shiro says, and the word eases some of the simmering embarrassment and anger. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure,” Keith says warily.

“Are you nervous about it?”

That’s a question that’s knotted around a lot of different things, and Keith isn’t sure where to start with it. He doesn’t answer. He can hear Shiro take a breath on the other end of the line.

“It’s okay to be nervous. You don’t know Charlie very well, right?”

“No.”

“Do you know who else will be there? Anyone else you know?”

“Kids from class.”

“Kids you get along with?”

Keith huffs out a breath. Suddenly it feels like Shiro is babying him. He’s made it this far without any “life coaching” from a foster brother.

“Keith?”

But the softness in his voice ebbs away some of the frustration. Maybe Shiro isn’t babying him. Maybe he’s trying to help him do it on his own, better. It’s a strange thought, but it rings with a bit of truth.

“Some of them.”

“And some of them, not so much?”

“Some of them, not so much,” Keith echoes, leaning forward to rest his chin on his bony knees.

“Do you think there will be a problem?”

“I dunno.” He doesn’t, and he can feel the nervous energy that had been siphoning away when he wasn’t paying attention start to come back up again.

But Shiro’s next words distract him from that burning sensation.

“If anything happens, or you start to feel like something might happen, I’ll come and get you,” Shiro says. “I promise.”

 _Like I’m just gonna call my foster home and ask them to pick me up early from a party._ Keith almost snorts at the idea.

“And I know it’s not ‘cool’ to call someone to pick you up,” Shiro continues, the air quotes palpable enough to make Keith roll his eyes, “but I was thinking. You choose a word. Something normal, whatever you want. But if you call me or text me and say that word, I’ll come and get you. No questions asked.”

Keith frowns. That sounds like something off of a bad Stranger Danger warning video.

“You can complain and groan and do whatever ‘cool’ kids do when I come pick you up, too. Pretend you don’t want me there. I don’t care.”

His voice is more fervent now, and Keith frowns harder, squinting. It’s not a bad idea, really. Even if it sounds stupid. And he can tell that Shiro means it, that he will follow through.

“Ice cream sundae,” he says after a pause.

“Ice cream sundae,” Shiro repeats. “That’s the word?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll have my phone on me tomorrow, I promise.”

Whatever was left of his nervous energy drains away in that sentence.

“Okay.” He hesitates. He almost says _thanks_ but feels stupid so he doesn’t. “Bye.”

“Bye, little bro.”

* * *

Keith tosses his bag into the car and hops in, closing the door behind him.

“How was your day?” Henry asks, pulling onto the road.

“Fine,” Keith says, waving at Nat through the window.

“I have the bag you packed,” Henry says, hooking his thumb toward the back seat.

“Cool,” Keith says, turning and leaning precariously into the back seat. He fumbles with the zipper on the outside of his bag and extracts his phone.

“Careful, son,” Henry says, glancing behind him as he switches lanes. “Seatbelt.”

“Sorry,” Keith says, squirming back into his seat and buckling the seatbelt across his chest as he starts to turn on the phone.

Henry’s words echo through his brain a few seconds later and he glances over at Henry, frowning. The man’s eyes are on the road, focused, but he notices Keith’s gaze and looks over.

“What?” he says, meeting Keith’s eyes quickly before looking back to the road. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Keith murmurs, opening up the texts on his phone. There’s one from Shiro.

> [Shiro] How was your day, little bro?
> 
> [Keith] fine
> 
> [Shiro] Excited for the party?

Something stirs in Keith at that question. Like nervous energy, but more excited. Bubbly and prickly at the same time.

> [Keith] I guess.

He glances up and sees an unfamiliar neighborhood. Henry starts to slow down.

> [Keith] almost to charles house now
> 
> [Shiro] Have fun!

Keith pockets the phone as Henry pulls into a driveway behind a red minivan. He unbuckles the seatbelt and jumps out, almost before the car comes to a stop, and pulls open the back door.

“Have fun, Keith,” Henry says. “Let us know if you need anything. Otherwise, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Keith says, smiling at Henry briefly before gripping the handles of his duffle. He pulls the bag out and closes the door.

“Keith!”

A boy hops out of the red minivan with his own bag in hand, already waving at Keith.

“Long time no see, man,” Ed says, laughing. “Bye, mom! Yeah, bye! Love you too!”

The woman in the car might be saying something, it’s hard to tell over Ed’s shouts and the sound of a crying child inside. Ed pulls hard on the sliding door until it latches shut and breathes a sigh of relief.

“A night without the bratty baby sister, hallelujah,” he says to Keith. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters, do you? Mom didn’t recognize your name.”

Keith shakes his head. He doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s true. But he feels weird doing it, and thinks of Shiro suddenly. He shakes that thought away with a prick of embarrassment, but Ed is still talking.

“Good for you. Sisters are the worst.”

Keith hears Henry’s voice behind him and turns to look; he’s stopped on the street with the window down, talking to another parent. The back window of the other car rolls down, and Nat is drawing his hand across his neck with his tongue hanging out. Ed giggles, and Nat starts laughing. Keith can’t help grinning too.

The car pulls in a few seconds later, right up next to them, and Nat hops out. The front window rolls down and the father driving leans over.

“Hey, Ed!”

“Hi, Mr. Fleming!”

“You must be Keith!” Keith looks up at the mention of his name. “You’re with the Shiroganes, right?”

Keith just nods, then turns his attention to Nat as the boy practically rolls out of the car in anticipation.

“I’m finally free,” he gasps melodramatically, trust-falling onto Ed who barely catches him with a grunt of surprise. Then he starts laughing, and Ed does too, and they’re on the grass at Keith’s feet.

Mr. Fleming is laughing as he rolls up the window.

“Have a good time, boys!” he shouts as he waves.

Keith waves back, as do the two boys choking for breath on the grass.

“Come on in, boys,” a woman calls, opening the front door.

“Coming, Mrs. Gold,” Nat promises, heaving himself to his feet and grabbing his bag.

The three boys troop into the house to see several others already there, yanking off their shoes and chattering excitedly about the movie they’ll be watching that night. Apparently, the Golds have a home theater in their basement, complete with operational popcorn and soda machines. The surround sound, according to Jason, is _to die for_ with action movies.

Keith follows suit, bending over to untie his shoes and slip them off, when he’s pretty sure he hears his name. Glancing up, he sees Karson looking at him, but he quickly looks away and turns back to the other boys he was talking to. Keith quickly looks back to his shoes. He can feel his phone in his pocket, and for some reason, that makes him feel a little better.

* * *

> [Shiro] How’s the party going?
> 
> [Keith] fine. they have cake. no ice cream sundaes though

* * *

“Keith, honey, Takashi’s here?” Mrs. Gold’s voice carries from the top of the basement steps, where Keith can see her silhouette.

Most of the boys are engrossed in playing Smash on the huge theater screen, but Keith and Charles are on the edge near the door, so they both hear the call. Some of the nervous energy eases, but another part of it tightens.

“Aww, what?” Charlie says, looking between Keith and his mother with disappointed surprise. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Charles,” his mother says, at the same time as the crowd of boys simultaneously groans and cheers. Someone must have won the round.

Keith stands up, hesitating. Unsure whether to get his bag or go up the stairs. Unsure what Shiro had told her.

“Does he have to go?” Charles asks, glancing at the screen and booing before looking back.

“I’m afraid so,” Mrs. Gold says. “Grab your things, Keith.”

Keith wordlessly grabs his bag, looking back as Charlie calls after him, “Aww, man. See you Monday!”

Some of the other boys look up then, just realizing what’s happening. Keith feels the eyes on him and one of his hands is curling into a fist before he realizes it. He just squeezes the handle of his bag tighter.

“Good riddance, jerk,” someone mutters.

Keith can’t tell who, but probably Karson. Charles either doesn’t hear or pretends not to. Keith swallows a few words.

“Seeya, Charles,” he says, lifting his hand in half of a wave before heading up the stairs.

Shiro is standing next to Mrs. Gold in the kitchen, listening.

“Takashi, hon, does he really have to go? Is everything alright with your parents?”

“They’re fine, Mrs. Gold, thank you,” Shiro says, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. The weight of it anchors Keith to the floor. Steady and heavy.

“He’ll miss laser tag tomorrow,” Mrs. Gold says, her mouth twisting as she looks at Keith and then back to Shiro.

“Tell Charles I’m sorry,” Shiro says, squeezing Keith’s shoulder just slightly.

He turns to start walking and Keith stays close, the hand still keeping him grounded as they walk to the door. Shiro only lifts his hand to open the door, and lets Keith climb into the car first before he gets in and starts the engine.

Keith buckles himself in, then pulls a knee to his chest and wraps an arm around it, stilling the quiver within it. Shiro doesn’t say anything until they’re out of the neighborhood.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Keith doesn’t say anything. The nervous energy is subsiding quickly, but it’s in the process of being replaced with other feelings that he’s less familiar with. At least, in this combination.

“Did you eat anything?” Shiro asks.

Keith shrugs.

Shiro pulls into a drive-thru and orders them both some burgers, fries, and drinks. Then he pulls into a parking spot and splits up the food. Keith doesn’t touch anything, but Shiro starts eating slowly, in silence.

_“You think you’re so tough, but no one likes you. Karson’s brother has friends and they’re gonna—“_

Anger flames in front of him, bright red, quickly followed by a burst of frustration. And embarrassment. He ran away. Instead of facing his own problems, he ran.

Keith looks at Shiro. He’s looking out the front windshield, at ease with his thoughts. He sees Keith move and turns to catch his eye, but Keith looks back out the side window again.

He ran, and nothing even happened. Like a coward.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he hears himself say suddenly, the words hanging awkwardly in the silence. “It isn’t —“

He cuts himself off, clamping tightly on the words. Where did those come from? He expects Shiro to follow up, to ask a question, but he doesn’t. He just waits. And the silence is like a vacuum, pulling at the words inside of him until he can’t hold them back anymore.

“Some boys were just saying stuff. Stupid stuff. It isn’t — it wasn’t a big deal.”

He hesitates. He feels the pull on these words, although he isn’t sure why. Maybe because he knows Shiro won’t ask, and he won’t look for an answer from anyone else. He won’t know, unless Keith tells him.

“Nothing happened. Nothing — they just said stuff, and I felt — bad.” He stops and huffs out in frustration, tipping his head hard against the window. “So I texted you. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Okay,” Shiro says.

Keith hears the rustle of fries shifting against their cardboard sleeve before Shiro speaks again.

“I’m proud of you, little bro.”

Keith looks at him. His face is screwed up in disgust; he can’t help it.

“For _what?”_

Shiro looks at him for a moment, and Keith can almost see the gears turning in his head, but more words are coming out of him before he can stop them.

“For texting my foster brother to come rescue me from a birthday party? Like a — like a 6 year old who forgot his teddy bear and has to go home? For not dealing with my problems and being the ‘bigger man?’ For not being patient, Shiro? What are you proud of me for?”

Shiro opens his mouth, but Keith cuts him off.

“And who _are_ you? Why are _you_ proud of me? You’re not even — you’re not being paid to deal with me. You have your own problems! Why are you trying to get so involved in my stupid kid stuff?”

And then, to his mortal shame, he feels hot tears stinging his eyes. He pivots back to the window in one motion, hitting his elbow hard on the handle so that it stings.

Shiro doesn’t say anything for a moment. The silence is no longer pulling at him, and it just hangs between them with the weight of a hundred words.

“I’m proud of you,” Shiro starts after a moment — just a moment, not even a minute, and far sooner than Keith was expecting — “because you tried to handle it, and you reached for help when you couldn’t quite do it this time.”

He lets the words shiver there for a few seconds before he speaks again.

“I’m proud of you,” his voice is stronger now, but still soft, “because you focused and made a plan. And I’m proud of you for being brave.”

Keith shifts, embarrassment and anger rising in equal measure at that. He wasn’t brave. He _isn’t_ brave.

“It takes a lot of bravery to ask for help,” Shiro says, his voice even quieter now.

Inexplicably, some of the confusing feelings start to ebb away.

“And I care,” Shiro says with a finality that has its edges brushed smooth, “because you’re my brother. And this is what a family is.”

Keith feels like there’s more that Shiro wants to say, like the words are building inside of him, but he doesn’t say anything else. The weight of Shiro’s gaze is almost as heavy as his hand. It pushes what’s left of the storm down and away. He’s left with the shaky emptiness that only follows those times when he loses control completely, but this time he didn’t. There was no fight. No yelling. No one but Shiro even knew how tightly he had been wound and how close he had been to exploding.

No one but Shiro, he realized with clarity, and he had yelled at him.

He turns to Shiro, who’s looking at his lap now, looking less at ease than before, but still calm. Still Shiro.

“Thanks,” he says, and his voice sounds a little hoarse. Like he’d been crying. He clears his throat and feels more tears rising in the shakiness. There are usually tears when everything else leaves, and he doesn’t like it, but he can’t do anything about it. “And I — I’m sorry.”

Shiro looks at him, and Keith can see a flicker of surprise on his face.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Shiro says. “You can get mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.” Keith brushes away a tear that falls, irritated. “I’m not. I shouldn’t — I shouldn’t have yelled. I was just mad.”

“I know. It’s alright.”

More tears fall and Keith wipes them away, barely noticing them. His chin is quivering now too, though, and _that’s_ embarrassing. He’s about to turn back to the window when Shiro reaches over and hugs him. Usually when Shiro hugs him, he tolerates it. Foster families do that sometimes, and Shiro clearly liked it. He liked to ruffle his hair, put a hand on his shoulder, hug him, all kinds of stuff. Keith didn’t really care, and it kept the peace, so he put up with it.

Right now, though, Keith realizes why Shiro likes it. He’s shaky and empty, and the tears are coming without warning — and then suddenly he’s being held together with a warm strength outside of himself. Shiro isn’t a huge man, but he’s bigger than Keith’s skinny frame, and it’s enough to make him feel like maybe he won’t quite fall apart. That the arm around his back and the hand reaching up to brace his head could keep him from shaking to pieces. The strong chest he’s closing his eyes into. The steady thump of another heart in his ear. The reassuring _whoosh_ of his even breathing.

Keith thinks he could get used to this.


End file.
